


Questions and Answers

by PipesFlowForeverandEver



Series: Hymns of Struggle [16]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Drabbles, Short Stories, batim au, hymns of struggle, this is technically an ask event but about everything is answered with a short story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2019-06-20 07:19:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15529083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PipesFlowForeverandEver/pseuds/PipesFlowForeverandEver
Summary: Delving deep into the thoughts and emotions of beings not meant to live lives like this.(A compilation of characters of the Hymns of Struggle AU answering questions. It is basically a series of very short drabbles.)





	1. 500

**Author's Note:**

> I've done a few ask events on tumblr where I have characters answer questions about themselves! I'll compile the short stories I write here. The details given here are relevant to the story!
> 
> **Please assume that any event involved with these asks is now closed unless stated otherwise.**

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the event I did for having my first work get 500 hits! It was open to any question to any character.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you prefer the tumblr format, here are the links:
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/173297026003/joey-go-to-the-corner-you-did-bad  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/173297375343/hey-joey-how-did-you-come-to-start-joey-drew  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/173304001118/oc-you-should-tell-sammy-more-stuff-abt-modern  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/173362215543/alice-do-you-remember-a-man-by-the-name-of-joey  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/173683750198/prophet-is-a-good-boy  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/174452931063/ok-i-finally-thought-of-a-good-question-are-the
> 
> BONUS (because I cant include a picture on this work and this ask was answered with a picture. It is DEFINITELY the funniest): https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/173290843848/gianna-crystal013-i-have-been-beside-myself-for

"Joey, go to the corner, you did bad."

 

Joey’s brow furrows and he opens his mouth to argue, but no sound comes out. After a second, the finger he had raised in objection curls just a bit, right as his mouth shuts once more. Finally, he brings that hand to his chin and he squints in thought with a small “….hm.”

He turns around and walks to the corner.

* * *

 

"Hey Joey!!! How did you come to start Joey Drew Studios and the Bendy shorts?"

 

The ginger-haired man’s eyes gleam alongside the bright grin upon his face, a giggly “oh!” quickly falling out of his mouth as he claps his hands and lifts himself to the tips of his toes in excitement. “Lovely question, lovely question!”

He stills himself just as quickly, readjusting his top hat, and a brief, playful eyebrow raise can be seen under the shadow of the hat’s rim. “All Henry, you see! Well, I don’t think he’d care for me saying that, BUT-!” The words come as quickly as he can think, whimsy unfiltered. “I’ll say that the studio as we know it wouldn’t exist without him, that’s for sure! In fact, he uh-”

The last part of that sentence begins to trail, and soon we are left with someone wading waist-deep in their own reminiscence. The expression upon his face is gentle and lost in memory, a small smile slightly open mid-thought and eyelids lowered further over his honey-colored eyes.

“He drew the first sketch.” His shoulders rise and fall in a silent sigh, and his gaze falls to the floor and then returns to you, now filled with emotion. The next statement is tinged with both the delight and the heartache of a younger self’s dreams. “We just wanted to make the world a more magical place.”

* * *

 

"OC you should tell sammy more stuff abt modern culture, like new music and shrek"

 

he young woman finally lifts her eyes from the question, lower eyelids lifted so far upward that it affects her vision. The grimace is long across her face, trying not choke from her own laughter.

“What is it?” Sammy chimes, leaning into the doorway after hearing these odd noises. He notices her shoulders shake from containing chuckles, and so his tone is of concern.

“It- it’s- nothing,” she hardly speaks.

His mask moves up and down as he looks the woman over, observing her odd demeanor. “You don’t seem well, my friend.” He watches her shoulders lurch up and down with a small huff of air from her nose. Facing her back, he can’t see her having to bite her lip to keep from bellowing.

“I’m great!” She suddenly dips her head. “I’m an all-star,” she mutters.

There’s an awkward moment of silence, she trying to still herself as best as possible. Outright screaming could hardly be contained when Sammy finally leaves her be once again. Once the laughter is finished, she says to herself more than you, “I’m not sure I’m f*cking ready for that just yet!”

__

* * *

 

"Alice, do you remember a man by the name of Joey Drew and if so, what happened to him?"

 

A gasp, a shaky one, one of surprise and of…discomfort. She thoughtlessly puts one hand to her mouth, and her lone eye widens. “Joey…” she repeats, for herself rather than you. Her head tilts slightly down, looking at the floor. “…I do,” she responds, voice loud but its weakness evident. “He wanted- he just wanted Alice-” She corrects herself. “ _…Me_ to be perfect. He knew I could be, and I’ve…always agreed.” She shifts a little, brow furrowed but still unwilling to meet your gaze. To say she’s thinking isn’t the right descriptor. No, it’s more like she’s struggling with something.

“He’s still here somewhere. I know it.” She returns to you, hand at her mouth now moving down in front of her torso, a light striking motion to match her determination. “I saw him. Yes, I saw him!” She’s growing louder and louder, more and more sure of her frustration. “Early on, before Henry came, he…found me. He saw me, too.” But suddenly, it drops. You see her eye and the empty socket mirroring it crinkle in painful memory. _“…He screamed.”_

Her expression grows into a scowl and her next words are yelled, filling the emptiness with echoes.

“WELL, I’M HERE, JOEY! _I PROVED TO YOU I CAN DO IT! I’M FINALLY ALICE! I’M PERFECT, JUST LIKE WE WANTED!!!”_

She’s lying to herself.

* * *

 

"Prophet is a good boy"

 

Sammy is…very still. Simply standing there, silent and unmoving except for the slight runniness of his inky skin. You can almost see him blink behind his mask.

“Ah…uh…” Almost resolutely, he nods slightly. “Thank you.”

* * *

 

"Ok I finally thought of a good question: Are the OC and Sammy good singers? I know the OC has sung once and Sammy is known for being pretty musical--but are they any good? Either in your opinion or their own of each other?"

 

The young woman seems lost in her own mind for a second, a daydream to be precise. This question brings to her a strange swirl of different emotions- softness, awe, novelty, joy, admiration, and finally…pity.

“There was- there was one time I heard him sing,” she confesses quietly, gaze looking down and to the side with a faded smile. “In his music room, the place with all the instruments?” The small smile widens till it reaches her eyes as she recalls this special moment. “It was…unexpected. Lovely.” She nods affirmingly at you, finally looking your way. “He’s a lovely singer.” The grin remains, but inevitably the grim nature of it washes over her eyes. “He really…puts his soul into it. You can tell.”

The woman looks over her shoulder where Sammy sits a ways back unawares, using his four-fingered hands to teach himself how to play a song of the banjo meant for five.

“You can tell it’s all he’s had,” she mutters solemnly.

(Pipes here to add some detail! Sammy is definitely a good singer but I imagine his voice isn’t necessarily conventional. There’s something unique about it that’s somehow beautiful and utterly his own. As for the OC, she’s sung multiple times in the story but never in Sammy’s presence, so he has no opinion as of yet on her voice. I like to try to convey that her singing is at least decent but obviously untrained- also a sort of special quality to it, I think! If I had to guess, I think he’d enjoy hearing another person’s singing for once.)


	2. Cute Asks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These ask prompts are based on various "cute" words. Here's a link to a tag where you can find all these:
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/cute-ask
> 
> Again, for those of you unfamiliar with my Tumblr account, "Gingie" is a nickname for my Joey Drew.

**Breeze:** most precious childhood memory?

**Francine:**

The young woman leans back as she sits upon the gurney, an alert yet calm expression on her face- eyes a touch wider than usual looking through memories. A slow blink falls and rises again as she recalls not her childhood but...something more recent.

“The thing is like...” she begins to mumble, unsure how to present this, “-last time I thought about that-” She chuckles nervously, with a tinge of relief. “...I thought I was dying.” Her lower lip is tucked between her teeth just for a second, eyes flicking up in thought. “I thought about...getting ice cream with my dad,” she begins to list surprisingly casually, “My two elementary school friends having a fight about who liked me more-” A pause as she rolls her eyes at that silly idea with a growing smile. But then it fades, eyelids starting to lower as she gets lost in her own mind.

 

**Gingie:**

**(Note: This is Gingie speaking before the studio disaster.)**

As you find him in his office, his hands fold across his lap and eyelids flutter almost like you sprinkled fairydust in his eyes. A soft grin falls upon his lips and evening light from the window lines his profile with the sun.

“I remember once,” he begins, hushed with joy, “When my mother and I were baking in the kitchen.” He giggles; its unlike his usual flighty one- it’s more…delicate. “Or rather she was baking and I watched. Until…-”

He looks down at his hands, watching his fingers curl one by one like they played a scale on a piano- as if he’s remembering what these hands did when they were so much smaller. “…I wanted to help,” he admits with a shrug and another one of those short, light laughs. “She caught me trying to crush an egg in my hands- my  _bare_ hands!” And now he’s…quieter. “And after scolding me, she…came behind me and put each hand in mine…guiding me to show exactly how to crack eggs, dash salt, pour sugar…”

He finally moves his eyes back up at you, his irises glittering like gold in the room’s dull shadow. His grin widens as he speaks with amazement. “I’ll never forget that.”

 

**Henry:**

**(Note: This is Henry speaking before the studio disaster.)**

He folds his hands between his stretched legs as he sits upon a bench in the park. Like the two you questioned before him, he seems…lost somewhere. Good, bad- you can’t tell by looking at him. 

He’s just there. 

A tweeting bird flying just a little closer than expected over his head is enough to make his eyes flutter as well, chin lifting and gaze following as it disappears into a nearby collection of trees. Henry sighs, dark eyes squinting just a bit like he’s still looking for where it went. Finally he gives up, putting his arms behind his head and leaning back.

“You sure put me on the spot a bit here, pal,” he jokes, “I suppose I remember…the first time I messed around with a pen.”

Ah, there he was. And there comes his smile.

“It was…something else to watch the way a black line follows behind the tip of it. I wasted a  _lot_ of paper that day.”

A soft chuckle.

“Who knew it’d take me all the way here.”

 

* * *

 

 

**Pebbles:** how do you spend free time by yourself?

**(Note: This is Gingie speaking before the studio disaster.)**

“Let me show you!” he chimes.

He pulls away a beaded curtain that hides the entrance to his basement. He flicks on a light switch to reveal a special kind of lounge- a small library with cushiony seats and a few books here and there. Like the rest of his house, of course, there’s also items you cannot recognize- seeming to hold a magical, odd quality about them.

“Nothing like an evening with a good book!” he laughs. “And if you’ve seen my front yard, you know that I spend some of my free daylight with the garden!”

 

* * *

 

 

**Daydream:** how do you want to be remembered?

**(Note: This is Henry speaking before the studio disaster.)**

Henry purses his lips. This isn’t…a question he ever really expected. It’s not as if he hasn’t thought about it- just not…outside of a daydream (ironically). He blinks before focusing in on a thought. “It’s not like I need to be famous or anything, ya know? I just…want the people that knew me to know me in a good way.” A smirk comes across his face. “Being remembered for Bendy wouldn’t hurt, though, of course.”

 

* * *

 

 

**Charming:** have you ever been in love?

**(Note: This is Henry speaking before the studio disaster.)**

The young man’s almond eyes are wide, and his mouth suddenly seems small amid the rest of his face. To say he’s taken aback would be an understatement. Underneath black bangs is an expression worth a thousand words. He doesn’t have to _tell_ you he’s been in love thanks to it, but-

“Yeah,” he confesses with a shy half-smile and a downward gaze- as if he doesn’t currently have a date tonight with a man he’s grown so close to that his daughter is starting to feel like his own.

 

* * *

 

 

**Sweet:** do you find it easy to open up?

You seem to have caught Sammy in the middle of a deep ponderance…or you’ve caused it with this question. As he has many a time, he’s staring down at his arms- a sign he’s thinking about who he is now thanks to the ink. His palms slowly open and close as he watches them do so, and finally his shoulders rise and fall with a breath.

“…No,” he replies quietly, “In the time I’ve spent here, I have…experienced again and again the spirits of the puddles refuse to heed my call, my…insistence to free us from the bounds of liquid, black perdition. And so speaking what lies in my heart becomes…harder.”

Gradually, his fists close tighter with stress.

“They’ve never listened,” the prophet whispers. His belief has always been that a united front- to make a congregation of believers from each soul of the studio- would result in the ink demon allowing their final release into a new, better life. Both when his mind was bodiless among the others of the puddles and when he trudged with his oily, dipping corpse to meet with others that managed to take physical form within these halls-

“The anguish of their own personal suffering drowns out all prayer- all attempts to convert and convince. They only hear themselves.”

You can hear a sigh from behind his mask. But of course; to be alone with his faith, a light of salvation just barely out of his reach, is sometimes torturous. It provides another reason to preoccupy his time and mind with music and worship.

And then…a change. He remembers something. You see him slightly but surely perk his shoulders and head up from their slouch. Finally, he looks right at you.

“Francine…” He seems to realize something, but it takes him time to formulate words for this.

“…What a change she brings.”

Maybe he doesn’t have an easy time opening up, but he’s starting to know what it’s like to have someone who listens.

 

* * *

 

 

**Dovey** : any paranormal/magical experiences?

**Gingie:**

**(Note: This is Gingie speaking before the studio disaster.)**

He leans back into his chair, hands folded at his lap and a relaxed, satisfied smile upon his face. All around him is rich décor- like a scene out of a Ghibli movie. Some items you do understand- there’s tarot cards, jarred and bottled herbs, crystals- and there’s some things you cannot. And all around- books and papers, some with symbols that serve to you no meaning. It’s a beautiful hodgepodge of wonders and curiosities at the tips of his fingers, a purposeful collection of oddities and sentimentality.

“But of course!” he chimes with a soft but excited tone. “Every day- every,  _every_  day!” His grin widens warmly. “Isn’t there a little magic in every single day, thing, touch, and moment?”

His sincerity may mislead how literal he is about this.

 

**Francine:**

She stands where she is, panting, holding an axe between palms wet with ink and sweat. Her head sharply raises up as you speak, interrupted as she catches her breath. A look of incredulity forms as one side of her mouth stretches until it makes its matching eye squint.

There’s a lot of different ways she could answer that. The truth is…she didn’t like to think about it. The magic, the impossible; doing that kind of…stripped her of her defenses. Her mind is one of the few things she has left to her, and to upset what she had accepted for so long is both necessary and terrifying. And so as a compromise, she tells you:

“No shit.”

 

**Sammy:**

He’s perched in the viewing room overlooking the band room, precariously balancing himself upon its edge in a sitting lean. He looks to his side and down, observing the dust particles dance in the light. A few graze past his mask as he tilts his head, like duller, yellower fireflies.

A thoughtful hum- or a sigh- rings gently into the air as he overlooks his one and only domain, the place that gives him the most sense of belonging and purpose.

“…Certainly,” he finally answers. He raises an arm calmly to gesture to the whole room and maybe the building itself. “This entire realm is one of a power beyond mortal comprehension” He turns to you, a hand touched to his chest. “I have been cursed to abide by it’s inhuman rules, but…blessed to find comfort amid it as I await our salvation.”

His hand falls, and you see his shoulders rise and fall with what is doubtlessly a sigh this time. He seems…lost- lost yet again as he spends yet more of his eternity contemplating what maybe could never be fully understood.

“Praise be to the ink demon,” he eventually whispers to himself as both a comfort and as a mystery.

 

**Henry:**

(Note: This is Henry speaking before the studio disaster.)

He looks over his shoulder at you as you interrupt his sketching of the next panel of the current Bendy storyboard, giving a surprised “ah?” and a blink. 

“Oh.” Henry lets out his signature chuckle as he turns around in his chair, an arm casually resting over its back. “Well…I can’t say that I have,” he admits with a smile and a shrug. “Although…-”

And suddenly a new meaning of your question washes over him, shifting his expression and body language like he’s melting away into peace.

“…Can a person be magic?” 

How wonderful it is that there are so many people he could be asking about.

 

* * *

 

**precious:**  what is something valuable that you learned in your life? 

The young woman folds her arms and leans back against the wall behind, a look so soft upon her face it almost seems sleepy. There are, of course, many things she’s learned in this giant inky cage, but the theme that coincides with her whole life? The accumulation of everything she has ever gone through from birth to today?

“You don’t give up,” Francine mumbles in a light tone. Eyes close and her head tilts back and slightly away. And then…a smile curves her lips. “Everyone matters and so do you, ya know?”


End file.
